I’ve loved dogs ever since I was a child. Something about them never ceased to fascinate me, and I knew right then that I would share a never-ending romance with them.
I had two pet dogs to start with. Brownie – a rust coloured pariah – belonged to my paternal grandfather and Blackie – also a pariah – was my maternal grandfather’s. Since my parents’ houses are right beside each other, I had the privilege of enjoying the company of both these canines through my early childhood.
Brownie was the more laid-back of the two…enjoying a frequent siesta on the cool mud benches in the balcony or even on the sofa in the hall if he fancied it (much to the wrath of my mother).
Blackie, on the other hand, was the sport…chasing speeding motorcyclists, playing fetch with my uncle, or taking a quick plunge into the creek just across our house. In fact, anytime he was near the creek, he would leap into my uncle’s arms and indicate that he wanted to be launched into the water.
Once in his water world, it was very hard to persuade him to come onto dry land. And when he finally did decide to do so, he would arrive with mud socks on all of his fours, courtesy the silt lining the banks. Sauntering into the house, his dark brown footprints behind him, Blackie would be oblivious to my granddad’s rants and threats of a spanking. After all, he knew he was the uncrowned king of the home.
I don’t remember when exactly Brownie and Blackie passed away, but I know that they did in quick succession and on account of a grand old age. And although my memory of them is rather restricted, they were my first loves and my ushers into the fascinating world of dogs.
I had two pet dogs to start with. Brownie – a rust coloured pariah – belonged to my paternal grandfather and Blackie – also a pariah – was my maternal grandfather’s. Since my parents’ houses are right beside each other, I had the privilege of enjoying the company of both these canines through my early childhood.
Brownie was the more laid-back of the two…enjoying a frequent siesta on the cool mud benches in the balcony or even on the sofa in the hall if he fancied it (much to the wrath of my mother).
Blackie, on the other hand, was the sport…chasing speeding motorcyclists, playing fetch with my uncle, or taking a quick plunge into the creek just across our house. In fact, anytime he was near the creek, he would leap into my uncle’s arms and indicate that he wanted to be launched into the water.
Once in his water world, it was very hard to persuade him to come onto dry land. And when he finally did decide to do so, he would arrive with mud socks on all of his fours, courtesy the silt lining the banks. Sauntering into the house, his dark brown footprints behind him, Blackie would be oblivious to my granddad’s rants and threats of a spanking. After all, he knew he was the uncrowned king of the home.
I don’t remember when exactly Brownie and Blackie passed away, but I know that they did in quick succession and on account of a grand old age. And although my memory of them is rather restricted, they were my first loves and my ushers into the fascinating world of dogs.
